Love You, Too
by jublke
Summary: Sam and Dean are having a hard time coping with Sam's hallucinations of Lucifer. When Dean gets drunk one night, can he make it back to a suicidal Sam in time? Rated T for suicidal thoughts, cutting, swearing, and driving drunk. Not a death fic.


Not mine, don't own.

Set in Season 7. My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta reading and doing a little digging to make sure my story fits with canon. I appreciate it! Any remaining errors are mine.

Rated T for suicidal thoughts, cutting, driving drunk, and, of course, swearing. Not a death fic.

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own._

* * *

Dean sat in the parking lot of the liquor store, gripping a fifth of Jack in his right hand, and stared out the windshield of the crappy 1999 Toyota Camry they were using for wheels this week. He couldn't go back to the room - Sammy would want to know what was wrong.

 _And what can I say?_

 _Y_ _our mind is fraying apart at the edges, little brother, and I don't think I'm strong enough to keep putting you back together._

 _How can I admit that?_

Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, but Dean refused to let them fall. He opened the whiskey and drank.

It wasn't until the bottle was nearly gone that Dean realized the error of his ways. Yes, he could drive back to the motel. No, he probably wouldn't get caught. But it was damned stupid to get this drunk when he was the only one around to keep Sammy from going off the rails.

Dean blinked at his phone, trying to focus both eyes on the time. _Damn it._ He'd spaced out two hours. Sam had to be wondering where he was, would probably call at any minute ...

The phone rang. Of course it did. _Damn predictable kid._

"Hullo?" Dean sounded worse than he felt.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, laced with worry, held an edge of panic. "Where are you?"

"'m comin', Sammy," Dean confirmed. "Jus' got t'-"

"Are you drunk?" Fear had given way to indignant anger, and Dean almost laughed in relief. Sam could still pull it together when he had to.

"Yeah," he admitted, far more freely than he normally would. _Come on, Sammy, yell at me some more._

"You shouldn't drive, then." Sam hesitated, the fight already having left him. "It's just -" Dean could hear Sam twisting around as he spoke. He could picture his brother frantically rubbing the scar on his left hand as he tried to ground himself.

"Lucifer," Dean spat out. "You tell that sorry SOB that he'd better be gone by the time I get there, you hear me?"

Dean had no idea if Lucifer - or whatever fragment of Hell was still trapped in Sam's mind - could hear him. But his brother could. And Sam needed to know that Dean believed in him, trusted in his ability to fight this.

"Okay -" Sam stretched out the word, making it sound like a question. Dean blinked his eyes and rubbed them, trying to clear both his sight and his mind. Sam needed clear instructions when he got like this.

"Did you eat?"

"I was waiting for you. You were supposed to bring back dinner." His brother sounded petulant, rather than angry.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache that was already starting to form. "Order us a coupla pizzas, maybe a 2-liter of Sprite? Credit card's on the dresser by the TV."

He could almost hear the gears turning in Sam's mind. His brother hated talking to people when he got like this.

"Sammy, I need you t' do this f'r me, okay? Gonna walk around a bit 'n clear my head. Be home in a' hour."

He heard a sniff.

"Sammy?" Dean's heart thudded in his rib cage.

"I don't think I can wait that long," Sam whispered. "I can't ... He told me to take ... I've got your knife, Dean, and it's ... Lucifer says it's the only way -"

"Sam! You listen t' me. Whatever Lucifer is sayin' is not real. Lucifer is not real. Put the knife down, Sammy. The knife is real, Sammy, an' it can hurt you. Put the knife down right now!"

Dean started the car, adrenaline flooding his body. He peeled out of the parking lot, barely missing a lamp post.

"Sammy?" Dean turned down the first side street he saw, clipping a steel trash can with a clang. _Thank God I'm not drivin' Baby._

"... Yeah?"

"Didja put the knife down?" He slowed the Camry to a crawl as he focused on his brother's reply, cursing himself for having left the weapon behind in the first place.

"Yes, Dean."

He could have wept in relief. Dean looked up and realized that he had no idea where he was. He rolled down the driver's side window and let the cool air wash over him, trying to force sobriety into his body.

 _I can do this._ Dean wasn't proud of the fact, but he'd driven drunk before. He just had to figure out where he was. He had to get back to Sam.

"Sammy? You still there? Talk t' me, buddy." When Sam didn't immediately reply, Dean added, "I'm comin'. I'm comin' home right now, Sammy."

"Shouldn't be driving," his brother mumbled, sounding less coherent than before.

"Sam, did you take something?" Dean tried to think through the contents of the med kit, but it was hard when he was facing two stop signs. Dean shook his head but he couldn't force his eyes to converge on a single image.

"... blue ones?"

Dean hit the brakes, thankful that the road he was on was sparsely travelled. "How many blue ones?"

"... three? M'be four. Hard to 'member."

"Any other colors?" Dean massaged his temples as he resumed driving. _Blue is Xanax? Or Klonopin? And where the hell am I?_

"No. Jus' needed some ..."

"It's okay, Sammy." _Four of anything isn't enough to cause permanent damage, right?_ "We're gonna figure this out." He stared out the window at the unfamiliar scenery. "Hey, I need you to focus."

"D'n?"

"Sammy," Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm lost, man. You gotta get the map for me before you crash."

"'kay." Dean could hear his brother breathing heavily over the phone as he shuffled around the motel room. "I don' know where it is, De'!"

The panic was back and Dean had to nip that in the bud. "Hang in there, Sammy, we're gonna figure this out. Go grab a Coke outta the fridge."

His brother wailed. "But you're lost and I can't find you! Again!" His voice took on a manic tinge. "I lost you! I can't - I can't! ... Shut up! Just shut the hell up!" He heard a sob as his brother lost the fight with his hallucination.

Dean's stomach lurched. When his tongue tingled and curled - his own personal warning that he was about to hurl - Dean pulled over as best he could. Wrenching open the driver's side door, he leaned over and threw up in the middle of the street.

"Dean?" Sam's worried voice rang loudly in his ear. "You 'kay?"

"Peachy, Sammy," Dean replied, wiping a sleeve across his lips. He rested his head on the steering wheel. "You find me a map yet?"

"No, I ... I -"

"Focus, Sam. You got this." He heard his brother take a sip of soda.

"I can look it up on the Internet!" Sam sounded almost giddy.

Dean sighed in relief. _Why didn't I think of that?_ "I'm at -" he squinted at the nearest corner. "Cherry 'n Vine."

"Okay," Sam's voice was stronger now. "Take a left on Cherry."

"Got it," Dean replied, pulling away from the pool of vomit. Thankfully, no one seemed to be awake to witness his failings in this sleepy one horse town. "Now what?"

"Right on Van Buren."

Dean tried to focus on the street signs but his vision was blurry at best. Every now and then his focus would slip back into two of everything. "Can't find it," he admitted. "How soon?"

There was a pause. "Third right? Maybe. Map's not the best."

Dean drove slowly down the street, so focused on the street signs that he forgot to look where he was going. There was a large clank, a thud, and the splintering of glass.

"Dean!"

 _Shit!_ Dean looked up and realized that he had driven right into a residential mail box. The post had snapped in two, leaving the box spilling bills and letters onto the street. Instead of four headlight beams, he now only saw two. An exterior light popped on at the nearest house.

Dean swore again.

"Sammy, I gotta get outta here." Dean eyeballed the man who opened the front door wearing a tartan robe and carrying a baseball bat. The man began to run after the car, screaming obscenities.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam sounded wide awake now, alert and terrified.

There was a squeal of tires. "Find me some bigger landmarks than street signs."

Sam huffed, mollified by Dean's calm reply. "You need new contacts."

"Need t' go back in time and not drink a fifth of Jack."

"You drank an entire bottle?" Dean could picture the bitch face that went with that question.

"You took four blue pills?" He regretted the words the minute they left his mouth. "Sorry, Sammy," Dean sighed. He looked around. "'m at a stoplight. There's a Pizza Hut 'n a McDonald's."

"Could be anywhere in America," Sam grumbled with a sigh. "Wait, I think I found ya! Go past the Pizza Hut toward the KFC. 'member? Our motel's on the right."

Dean followed his brother's instructions and soon found himself pulling into the parking space for room 19. He turned off the ignition with a deep exhalation of relief.

Sam stood in the doorway in his stocking feet, a can of Coke in one hand, eyes heavy-lidded. There were several small fresh puncture wounds on his left hand.

"Dean." His brother pulled him into a tight bear hug as soon as he walked up, right in front of the world.

And for once, Dean didn't care. He clasped his brother back, not letting go or cursing the chick-flick moment as he usually did. "I'm here, Sammy. I got you."

Sam squeezed him hard. "I got you too, Dean." He felt his brother's warm tears as they fell on his head. "I love you," his brother whispered. "Thanks for comin' back."

Dean pulled away and looked up at his baby brother, blinking to clear his vision. "You're a mess, dude."

Sam gave a weak laugh and wiped away a tear. He shook his head. "You're not much better, Dean."

The older brother gave a half-smile, and wound his arm around his little brother's waist. Together, they made it back into the room and collapsed on their respective beds.

Dean, of course, dropped onto the bed nearest the door. "Need to order pizza," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Sleep first," Sam murmured back. "'Night, Dean."

"'Night, Sammy." And then, because he was half asleep, drunk, and so relieved that his baby brother was still alive, he added, "Love you, too."

* * *

Author's note: Please don't hurt yourself or put yourself at risk if you are feeling suicidal. In the US, the toll-free number for the National Suicide Prevention Line is 1-800-273-TALK (8255). For lesser upsets, writing fanfic can be quite therapeutic. Remember to Always Keep Fighting.


End file.
